Hunger Games
by TheHarryPotterDork
Summary: Short one-shots. Many different characters will be featured. I've titled the chapters according the characters they will be about. Please review and feel free to make requests!
1. Katniss, Peeta, & Prim

I do not own The Hunger Games.

Between the Games

(Takes place between The Hunger Games and Catching Fire, a little while before the Victory Tour)

* * *

><p>When the excitement finally dies down, I take Prim to the woods for the first time. She's been to the edge of the fence, but never on the other side.<p>

"This makes me nervous," she mumbles quietly after we cross over. We're still about twenty feet from the fence.

"Do you want to go back?" I ask. She shakes her head. I decide to leave my bow in the hollow tree today, and just spend time with Prim. Not that I need to hunt. We eat plenty of food from the merchants now. I hunt for Gale, but even he has trouble taking my game.

"I just don't want to go to far," Prim says. I nod and we walk in silence for a few minutes.

"How was Mom?" I ask, my voice a little harder than I want it to be.

"I think what you said to her before you left made an impact. She really pulled her weight."

"Good," I say, softer.

On our way back to the fence, Prim sweeps up a bouquet of wild flowers. She smiles.

"For Haymitch." She's taken a liking to him much quicker than I did. In her eyes, he's part of the reason I'm still alive. I help her over the fence and then climb over. We walk through the square toward the Victor's Village. We're passing the bakery when Peeta walks out, carrying a bag full of fresh bread with cheese baked over the top. Even though I'm well fed now, my mouth waters when the smell hits my nose. The hurt registers and disappears in Peeta's eyes before anyone says a word.

It's quiet for a few moments and I'm about to lead Prim away when she says brightly, "Hi, Peeta."

"Hello, Prim. You look very pretty today," he smiles. And she does. She's wearing a new skirt and a bow in her hair. We never had money for new clothes for her; she always wore my hand-me-downs.

"Thank you, Peeta. Oh, is that the bread with cheese on top? Those are Katniss's favorite!" She exclaims. I groan inwardly.

"Really? Here, have one," Peeta takes a loaf from the top and holds it out to me. I stare at it like an idiot. "Or not," Peeta mutters.

"Thank you," Prim says, and takes it on my behalf. She looks at the flowers in her hand, then at me, then at Peeta. "For you," she grins and holds the flowers out to Peeta. He sets down his bag of bread and takes the flowers. He kneels down and hugs Prim without a word. For some reason it makes my cheeks flush and I feel embarrassed. My own sister is nicer to my 'lover' than I am. Peeta's eyes flicker up to meet mine over Prim's shoulder. The hurt is back in his eyes. He whispers something in Prim's ear as they part and she let's out a small laugh.

"Bye, Peeta," I mutter as Prim and I walk away.

As we turn I hear him say softly, "Goodbye, Katniss."

"Why don't you just talk to him?" Prim asks when we're barely out of earshot.

"He doesn't want to talk to me," I mutter. "I wouldn't be surprised if he hates me."

"Why would he hate you? You saved his life."

"You're too young to understand," I sigh.

"No, I'm not. You're just too stubborn." And she's right. I don't want to talk to Peeta because I'm desperately afraid of what he'll say. What if he says he still loves me? What if he says he hates me? Which is worse? I don't know.

"I'll talk to him sometime."

"You're going to wait until the Victory Tour and then it'll be even more awkward than it is now."

"Not possible."

Prim gives me a look I've only seen twice. Once when I threatened to kill her cat, and again when I suggested eating him.

"Fine," I pluck the loaf of bread from her hands and turn on my heel. My heart hammers in my chest as I approach the bakery. Peeta is outside still, talking to another merchant now. I walk up behind him quietly, but I can tell by the way his back stiffens that he hears me. I cough once. He turns.

"Peeta," I say to the ground.

"Hey, Katniss," he says, his voice softer than it should be. I want him to yell at me. Throw something at me. Tell me I'm despicable.

"Thanks for this," I gesture to the bread in my hand.

"You're welcome," he says awkwardly and adjusts the bag of bread on his shoulder. One hand hangs at his side, clutching Prim's flowers.

"What's all the bread for?"

"I like to… well… I sometimes share it with people," he mumbles uncomfortably. I stare at him.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I mean, we're rich now, aren't we? I can afford to give bread away now."

"I do the same thing. Only, I don't bake my own bread," I try to smile but it's just too hard. If I smile, I may start crying if he doesn't smile back.

"I know. I've seen you around." He's really saying _I still notice you. _And maybe he's saying he still loves me. I don't know. I don't want to know. I just want everything to be easy and uncomplicated. I want Peeta to make a joke, but he doesn't. He just stands there, looking everywhere but at my face.

"Peeta," I mutter. Finally he meets my eyes.

"Yes?"

I don't know what to say. He is still hurting. And it's my fault he's in pain. Why do I even care? He was a stranger before the games. A stranger who saved my life when I was on the brink of starvation, but still a stranger. Yet at this very moment I want nothing more than to run into his arms, tell him it isn't part of the Games and hold him close. Gale crosses my mind and I swallow.

When I don't say anything, Peeta looks away.

"I should go."

"I-" But my voice catches. Peeta glances at me one last time before turning and walking across the square, toward the Seam. I nearly run back to the Victor's Village. I race into my house, up to my room and into my closet where I cry silently, feeling foolish. All I want is Peeta. Just his company. I don't know why I crave it so much. But I do, and nothing will help me get the boy with the bread out of my mind.


	2. Rue

I do not own The Hunger Games.

Brother

* * *

><p>When my name is called, I know I am going to die. I know I have no chance. When I say goodbye to my family, I tell them I love them. They tell me I'm fast. They tell me I will be overlooked because of my size, and that I have a chance. Remember the boy from District Seven who won a few years back? Remember how small he was? I nod. I smile and say I'll try my best. They cry. They hang onto the hope that I have a chance. I don't shatter their fragile dreams of my survival with the truth. My parents and sisters leave in tears when the Peacekeepers come, but my younger brother begs them for another minute. He's nine, with wisdom beyond his years. Tears shine in his eyes and he takes my hand.<p>

"I will whistle the song at quitting time," he tells me. Because he knows. He knows that I am going to die. I know that late in the night, he will cry beside the fire, but for now he wipes my tears.

"I'll give it my all," I tell him. He shakes his head.

"I know, Rue. I will miss you." Then the Peacekeeper is tearing him away from me and I know I'll never see him again.

* * *

><p>That first night, after the bloodbath, I sleep up in a tree, like I saw Katniss do. I distance myself from her by about ten miles or so, but I copy her technique of belting myself to the branch. For the first time in days I smile, thinking I might actually have a small chance.<p>

I stay up in the trees for the next few days, a couple times I cross paths with the Careers or some of the other tributes, but I am so far up in the trees, it's like being in a different Games. They've forgotten that I exist. My plan is to stay up the trees until there are only two tributes left. One will kill the other, and I'll kill the last. Somehow. Somehow I'll do it.

But everything changes when Katniss loses consciousness. I feel responsible. If it weren't for me, she wouldn't have gotten stung by the tracker jackers. So I come down from my safe green haven. When I leap off that last branch and land on the ground, I can almost feel my younger brother grimace.

* * *

><p>The trees above me blend together with the sun in bright green and white swirls. Katniss sings softly and strokes my hair. The white gets brighter, glowing. It's shining impossibly bright. I am scared to die, but I brace myself because I know. These are my last few seconds.<p>

The very, very last thing I think before the light completely overtakes me is not about Katniss. I think to myself, if only I had stayed in the trees, maybe I would have seen Farro again.

And I know it is an awful thing to be thinking. But it does not matter. Because by the time the thought has entered and left my mind, I am already sinking into nothingness.


	3. Gale & Katniss

I do not own The Hunger Games.

Run, Run, Run Away

* * *

><p>The morning of the Reaping, I wake up with a terrible feeling. A feeling that something dreadful is going to happen to me. I splash my face with water and look in our cracked mirror. That's when I know. My name is going to be pulled out of that glass ball today. I just know. The feeling is nestled deep in my stomach, that certainty that today my nightmares will come alive.<p>

I leave my house quietly, find Katniss in the woods and spend the morning hunting with her. I try to capture each moment and hold it in my mind forever, but they're all passing too quickly.

Soon I find myself running out of time. Standing in the crowd, the hot sun baring down on us. This is the moment. I know my name will be read today. I know I'm going to the arena. I can feel it.

And then they're calling Prim's name and Katniss is volunteering for her and my whole world isn't just turned upside down; it's crashing down on me in millions of pieces. I realize why I thought my name would be drawn out of that glass ball. That feeling in the pit of my stomach; it was for Katniss. Because the terror I feel at the thought of her being a tribute in the Hunger Games is just as horrific as the thought of going in myself. When she walks up to the stage, fists clenched, blinking back tears, that's when I know. It's that same feeling of dread. Because, at this most inopportune time, I have realized that I am in love with her.

* * *

><p>It isn't long before my nightmares are taken over by dreams of ramming that baker kid's head into concrete. They're kissing. He's kissing her. My Katniss. Mine. We are each other's. How would she react to seeing me kiss another girl? How would she react if I kissed her? The thought sends shivers down my spine. Somewhere deep within me, I know that if I had kissed her that morning, the morning of the Reaping, she would've kissed me back. I know she never wants to get married or have children, but I can feel it in my gut that she wouldn't have protested my kiss. Watching her croon over that lovesick baker just confirms what I already know; I am in love with her. I am in love with the girl on fire, and it is most likely too late. All I can do is cling to the hope that if she returns, she will requite my feelings. Until then, I just wait and watch. I'll be waiting here for her.<p> 


	4. Haymitch & Effie

I do not own The Hunger Games.

Exposed

* * *

><p>Effie is quite shaken after the war and after her imprisonment. She is fragile and breakable, and so Haymitch urges her not to return to the Capitol, but to instead reside in one of the many houses in District Twelve's Victor's Village that remains unused. He isn't quite sure what spurred his determination to make sure that Effie was alright, that she was living in a place that was good for her. Why does he even care? Because. Because he thinks of her as a younger sister. An annoying, high pitched younger sister. That's right.<p>

"Haymitch?" Her voice trembles, which is understandable given that the war only ended a few weeks ago. She is sitting at his kitchen table, eating eggs. If someone had told Haymitch two years ago that he would be eating breakfast with Effie Trinket, he'd have laughed in their face and walked away without a second thought. Yet here he is.

"Yes?" His voice is steady, strong. She latches onto his firm tone, one of the few secure things in her life.

"What will happen now?"

He shrugs. "We go back to…" he trails off because she isn't going back. This is new for her. This way of living. She's still adjusting to the lack of make-up and wigs and high heels. "You'll get the hang of it pretty soon."

"Okay." She eats slowly, and notices that Haymitch seems to be making an effort to mind his manners. This sends a strange feeling of comfort through Effie.

Haymitch studies her as they eat. She is naturally thin, but imprisonment turned her frail. Her cheekbones are too angular, her shoulders too bony. Her blonde hair falls to her shoulders, but it is wispy. Haymitch never saw her without a wig before the war, but he can guess that her hair is normally full and luscious. Her brown eyes, finally unmasked from the blue or gold or pink contacts, are filled with sadness and horrific memories that can never be erased. And her eyelashes. At last they aren't feathered or sparkling or disturbingly elongated. Although she is weak and frightened, she is finally bare before him. He can see her as she truly is.

She grows uncomfortable under his gaze, feels exposed somehow. But she should know that he thinks she looks a lot better this way. She knows how he feels-has always felt- about the Capitol fashions.

"How old are you?" Haymitch asks, realizing he's never known all these years. She looks so much younger without all that crap on her face. He guesses late twenties.

She blushes, because age is something of a touchy subject for her. But she tells him anyway, because he doesn't care about these things. "Thirty-six." She blushes again when his eyebrows raise in surprise.

"I'd have guessed twenty-five," he says matter-of-factly. He has no idea what this means to her. After years of covering her face to remain young and _in_ and stylish. "You look younger without make-up."

Tears spring to her eyes before she can stop them. She tries to say thank you, but it gets lost in her throat.

"Are you alright?" he frowns, setting his fork down. She nods. Then shakes her head. Then shrugs.

"After all those years," she mutters, blinking the tears back. "To know it never really mattered," she says, smiling, eyes sparkling. "It's just a relief."

"It's never mattered to me," he says, again in that same straightforward tone.

After they've finished eating, Haymitch decides to show her around District 12, or at least what's left of it, and there isn't much. He lends her one of his mother's old sundresses, one that he hasn't had reason to get out of the boxes in the guest room that has never been used. When they leave his house, Haymitch can't help but notice how pretty she looks in that simple white dress. It isn't that he's thinking of her in that way, it's just that he's never gotten the chance to really see her before. They walk down toward the square. Everywhere there are government officials, cleaning up, assessing the damage, making plans to rebuild. Most of the coal dust is gone from the air and streets, though it still covers remaining buildings and vast piles of rubble. A bird chirps in a tree nearby, as if to reassure the sense of hope.

When they reach the square, Haymitch is pleased to see that it is greatly improved. Gone are the instruments of torture that the last Head Peacekeeper had installed shortly before the rebellion. Haymitch is glad for their destruction for more than one reason though; he isn't sure how well Effie would react to seeing a whipping post after what she has been through. When they found her, in a prison in the Capitol, her back and arms were covered in cuts and slashes that could only have been made with a whip. Not nearly as bad as Gale had been whipped, though she had nevertheless been in awful condition. Stripped of all clothes but undergarments, shackled to the wall. She and her fellow Capitol rebels were fed a small slice of bread and a cup of water each day, which explains her gaunt figure.

"How are you?" he asks slowly. Haymitch wonders how her legs don't snap, they're so thin. But he's seen worse in the Seam, so he knows she will be alright after a while.

"How are you?" She counters, giving him the first real smile he's seen on her face in what feels like years.

"What do you mean?" his brow furrows in confusion. Surely he hasn't let her see the flashes of pain that overcome him whenever they pass a pile of rubble. He knows someone he once talked to is in every one.

"You haven't had a drink all day."

He laughs, relieved that she hasn't seen through him and also that she's retained the ability to tell a joke. "I think I'll abstain today. Just today."

They walk around for the rest of the day, greeting others that returned to 12 with them.

* * *

><p>Later, on the walk back to the Victor's Village, Effie mentions his drinking again. "You said I look better without my make-up," she begins.<p>

"Yeah. I can see the real Effie," he smiles. A genuine smile that makes it impossible not to smile back. They're on her doorstep now. The doorstep of the light blue house right next door to Haymitch's gray one.

"You look better without a drink in your hand. I can see the real Haymitch," she takes his hand and runs her thumb over the back, lightly skimming the tops of his knuckles. And then, as soon as she picked it up, she lets his hand drop. And for some unfathomable reason, Haymitch wishes she hadn't let go.

"Sometimes," she says in a whisper so quiet he can barely hear her. "When I was there, in the prison, I wished I had been born in one of the districts. And that I had been Reaped."

"Don't say that," Haymitch says roughly, itching to grab her hand, but his arms remain at his sides. "You don't know what that means."

"Don't I? After watching the Games for nearly thirty-seven years, after being part of-after helping to _orchestrate _them, after leading countless children to their deaths, I don't know what it means? No. I didn't know what it means, or I tried to ignore it. But you can't ignore it there. Not when someone like Johanna Mason is on the other side of a cell wall, screaming in pain as they douse her in acid." Her Capitol accent is lost during her short outburst.

Haymitch is quiet for a very long time. The absurdity of it all hits him just then. Effie was in prison._ Effie _was in prison. _Effie_. Despite the memories of being there when they released her, it just won't connect in his mind. They had _tortured _her. It just seemed so surreal.

"I'm tired," her voice comes out shaky and he can tell she wants to be alone.

"Okay," he replies softly. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

She nods, swallowing. He watches her go into her house and she closes the door gently with one last look at him.

When he gets home, he doesn't pour himself a drink. He knows it won't last long, this sobriety stint, but a day to clear his head is nice, especially if it's filled with Effie. Whom he thinks of as a sister. A bratty younger sister. That's right.


	5. Madge & Gale

I do not own The Hunger Games.

Two Months

* * *

><p>Both my mother and father were killed during the bombings. I had no siblings. So when Gale fled to District 2, I followed him.<p>

It's very different here. Everyone is formal and businesslike, and there are few friendly faces. I settle into a house in the lower class neighborhood of 2. It's quite a change from my large home in District 12, but it's comfy, and I needed the change. After the obliteration of Snow's empire, things are very free. We're allowed to be trained in whatever field we like, we're allowed to travel to whichever district we choose. I open a clothing shop, because I've always had a talent for sewing, and people seem to like my designs. Everyday as I'm working at my work table near the front window, I see Gale pass by on his way to work, wearing a dark suit and looking very official. I peer up at him as he passes, but he never sees me.

Two months after I move to District 2, I run into him at the marketplace.

"Madge?" He says my name, approaching me slowly, as if he's not entirely sure it's me. After spending nearly twenty years of our lives trapped in the same district, after seeing me frequently when he delivered the strawberries, he still has to make an effort to recognize me. I sigh wearily.

"Hello, Gale."

"I didn't know you relocated here," he says.

"I've been here two months."

"Oh. It's strange, isn't it?"

I nod. "I'm still adjusting."

"Are you here alone?"

"Yes."

There's sadness in his eyes. "We should catch up sometime," he says with a glance at his watch. "It was nice to see you," and he turns to go. I just can't stop what comes next.

"I followed you here!" I blurt out, the words mushed together. I desperately hope he didn't understand a word of it. He turns back to face me slowly, and I can tell he knows exactly what I said.

"You... but... _why_?"

Now it's anything I can do not to let the tears spill over. _Because I'm in love with you_, I want to shout. _I've been in love with you for years! _But I say nothing. Instead we just stare at one another until he speaks again. "Madge... I had no idea."

And then the tears really come. I give a weak laugh. "Of course you didn't," I say, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. "How could you? Always so... preoccupied with Katniss." I let out another pathetic chuckle. When he says nothing I sigh again, almost relieved. Because I came here for Gale, and now that I know he will always be out of my reach, I can get on with my life. I turn to go.

"Where are you going?" he chokes out.

"I don't know. Maybe back to 12? Maybe to 4? Does it really matter anymore, Gale?"

"Hold on," he says, pinching the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. "You can't just... drop something like that on me."

"I'm sorry," but I'm not sorry at all. Because there were signs over the years. Even when he judged me for being the Mayor's daughter, even when he hated me for not having to enter my name extra times for tesserae. There were signs. I gave him signs about how I felt, but he was fixated on Katniss. I knew that at some point I'd have to just grit my teeth and tell him the truth, and I almost did. But then Katniss volunteered as tribute and any chance I thought I had with Gale went out the window.

"Hold on," he repeats. "Just... don't go yet."

"Gale, you've hated me for years. I get it."

"I never hated you. I hated the Capitol."

"Let's just forget about this and move on."

"Are you leaving District 2?"

"I don't know. Probably. I only came here for one reason."

"Give me a week. Please?"

I stare at him for a moment, not comprehending what he's saying. Finally I just nod and walk away.

* * *

><p>A week later, a bouquet of pink gerber daisies appears on my doorstep with a card.<p>

_Date this Friday?_

_Your secret admirer _

I smile. _Finally_. And it only took two months. _Plus ten years. _


	6. Clove & Cato

I do not own The Hunger Games.

Dying Wish

* * *

><p>"Cato!" I scream.<p>

I'm not screaming for help.

"Cato!" I'm screaming because I know I'm about to die.

And there's only one last thing I want before death; to see his face. Just one more time before I'm gone forever. I heard scrabbling on the ground, the arrow girl I'm guessing. The boy from District 11 is squeezing my throat tighter, and right before he brings the rock down, I hear something from the edge of the forest.

"Clove!" It's Cato. Only he's too late. It's as if I leave my body and am watching myself fall to the ground, motionless. I can only watch as Cato shakes my lifeless body, pleading with me to stay with him. His face in contorted in pain, but at least I've seen it again. My eyes rove over him one last time before the darkness overtakes me and I am gone from this world.


	7. Foxface

I do not own The Hunger Games.

Nightlock

* * *

><p>My will to live is strong. I have no one to go back to. No one is awaiting my return. I live with the other orphaned children in the district home they stuff us in. So my will to live must be stronger than everyone else's. They all have their loved ones; friends and family, maybe a pet or two, but I have nothing. Absolutely nothing. From the very beginning, I know I must be cunning. The second the gong sounds, I grab a purple backpack laying front of me and make a mad dash for the forest. I know I am the first one to enter the woods, most of the others are either still standing around like morons or partaking in the bloodbath. I run.<p>

* * *

><p>The berries are just laying there. Someone must have eaten some in the last few hours and there has been no canon... And my food supply is out. I've been out of food for a while now. So I reach down and grab a handful. I pop one in my mouth and hurry away, back into the shadowy forest.<p>

Suddenly, the ground is beneath my back and my eyes are closing and a calm, drowsy feeling rushes over me. It feels like I'm about to fall asleep. But I know that when I fall asleep right now, I will never wake up again.


	8. Peeta

I do not own The Hunger Games.

Worthless

* * *

><p>"YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF TRASH!" My mother roars at me. I'm quite used to it by now, but even so, I flinch when the spit lands on my face. It isn't nearly as bad as the slap that follows. But then, I'm used to those, too. "GET OUT!" I fumble with my apron, cast it to the floor, and storm out. I'll get an earful for that one later. I hurry away from my parents bakery and head toward the Seam neighborhood. I take a deep breath and enter the abandoned warehouse that is now where the black market trading conspires within District 12.<p>

There she is. _Thank __God she's here_. She's chatting with Greasy Sae, laughing about something she said. The trembling in my hands stops when I see her. Seeing her always calms me after an argument with my mother. I conceal myself behind a stack of barrels probably full of something illegally obtained.

"Aren't you the baker's son?" I nearly knock the barrels over.

"Oh! Uh, yeah, sorry," I start. The man who addressed me is her father. _Her _father!

"Do your parents know you're here, son?" he asks warmly. I shake my head.

"I was just taking a walk... I needed some air," I mumble, twisting my fingers together.

"Here," Mr. Everdeen says, and hands me something in a small burlap sack. "Take that to your father. Give it to him in private. Tell him it's from the coal miner."

"There are a lot of coal miners, Mister." I don't let on that I know who he is.

"He'll know it's me. You're in the same grade as my daughter, Katniss?"

I nod. "Yes, sir."

"What's your name, boy?"

"Peeta."

"This is no place for a kid to be wandering around without his parents, Peeta. Run on home."

"Yes, sir."

"And I'll tell Katniss you said hello, alright?"

"That's okay, sir. I'd prefer if she didn't know I was here."

"Too late for that, son," Mr. Everdeen nods toward where Katniss is talking with Greasy Sae. Only now she isn't talking. She is looking right at us. Right at me. Staring right at me, her eyes curious. My nine year old heart skips a beat.

"Bye, Mister," and I quickly turn and hurry out of the building, clutching that burlap sack. Had she recognized me? No way to tell until school on Monday.

I make my way home quickly, and luckily when I get there my mother is out buying flour or something.

"Father," I mutter as I walk into the bakery.

"C'mere," he huffs from behind the counter. I trudge up to him and hold out the burlap sack.

"From the coal miner."

He pats me on the head and I go into the back room, where a cake sits, waiting to be iced.

* * *

><p>On Monday, I see her looking around, trying to figure out who it was at the Hob. She glances at me, but her eyes don't stay on me for more than a second before resting on another blond haired kid in our grade. She hasn't figured it out. I sign in relief and hope silently that she never does. Because she'll only laugh in my face. Because I am worthless.<p> 


	9. Effie & Haymitch

I do not own The Hunger Games.

Wouldn't Mind

* * *

><p>Haymitch saunters out of his bedroom and plops onto the couch. He reclines and lets out a yawn. Chest hairs peek out from his unbuttoned shirt. The moment he puts his feet up, there is a knock at the door.<p>

"It's open!" he bellows. The door clicks open and slams shut. The sound of footsteps draws near.

"You should really come to the door when someone knocks. It's polite," Effie squeaks. Haymitch raises an eyebrow. It's the first time she's said anything remotely Effie since the end of the war.

"Woman, it's nine in the morning. What're you doing in my house?" he groans.

"Haymitch!" She crosses her arms, ignoring his question. "Why aren't you dressed?"

"I am dressed!"

"In the shirt you wore yesterday! And no pants!"

"It's not like I'm going anywhere special."

"We're having lunch with Katniss and Peeta today. Go on, go take a shower."

"You take a shower," he mumbles and holds a pillow over his face.

"COME ON!" Effie grabs his arms and attempts to yank him to his feet. She grunts with effort and lets go. She tries again, this time by pushing him off the couch first. She gets him upright and begins dragging him toward the bathroom.

"Why're you being so pushy?" he grumbles. She finally gets him into the bathroom.

"Oh, shut up," she snaps. She pulls his shirt off and starts the shower.

"Do you want to wipe my ass after I-"

"Haymitch! Just get in the shower!" And she stomps out. He sheds the rest of his clothes and does as he's told.

"Effie! I don't have a towel!" He shouts when he's done.

"Not my problem!"

"Oh, come on!"

"Where are the towels?"

"The closet in my room!"

He hears her footsteps coming back down the hall and the closet door opens.

"Hm... Oh, here they-oops!"

"What fell?" He asks from the bathroom.

"Just a... oh... what's this..." she mumbles to herself.

"Effie, I could really use that towel."

"Here." There's a light thud against the door. Haymitch rolls his eyes, inches the door open a bit, and yanks the towel in. He wraps it around his waist and walks into his room, where Effie is sitting on the floor, reading some book.

"What's that?"

"I found it in your closet," she says quietly.

"Oh."

"God, Haymitch..."

"Can I get dressed in peace?"

Effie stands, clutching the book, and leaves the room. It's his tribute journal. It's got the name of every District 12 tribute since Haymitch won the second Quarter Quell. Their name, age, any special talent they may have had, and on all of them but two, how far they were in the Games when they died. Most were tenth or twelfth to go, but there were a couple in the twenties.

Haymitch walks out to his living room after getting dressed. Effie is on his couch, reading the journal.

"Oh, Haymitch."

"Don't start, please."

"I never knew you... did this."

"It isn't like it helped," he snaps.

"But you cared. You never let on that you cared..."

"Don't cry," he mutters, taking the book away from her. "No crying in my house."

"I'm sorry," and she begins crying.

"Oh, hell..." Haymitch hands her a box of tissues and stands near the couch awkwardly. She sniffles and it doesn't get on his very last nerve as he expects it would.

"Sorry," she weeps. Haymitch shifts his weight from one foot to the other before finally sitting down next to her.

"It's alright," he mumbles, patting her awkwardly on the back. She seems to take this the wrong way and he winds up with a crying Effie halfway in his lap. He wants to push her off. She's too close. But he lets her cry on him. He doesn't know why.

Her hands press to her ears and she starts screaming.

"Effie, stop, it's alright." But he knows there is nothing he can say to bring her back to reality. She's lost in her memories now and the only thing to do is wait it out.

So Haymitch pulls her closer and strokes her hair and tells her it's alright while she alternates between screaming and crying. And they don't get up all morning. She stops screaming around eleven, stops crying at noon, and by two, they're just sitting on the couch.

"When will this end?" Effie asks hoarsely. Haymitch looks at her sadly.

"Sweetheart," he takes a long pause, "It won't."

"What am I supposed to do?" she sighs.

"Live with it," he leans back against the couch. Effie just shakes her head.

"What if I can't?" She whispers.

"You have to."

"No, Haymitch. I don't. And what if I can't..."

Haymitch catches on pretty quickly. "Don't say that, Effie," he growls. His tone is harsher than he meant it to be. Effie looks up at him, startled by his sudden sharpness.

"Why? It doesn't matter any-"

"Don't ever say anything like that again," the words leave his mouth before he can think them. He realizes how much he hates hearing her talk like this.

"Haymitch, I... I didn't mean to upset you."

"Just... don't say stuff like that, alright?"

"Okay."

"Good. You want a drink, sweetheart?"

She shrugs. "Why not?"

So they drink liquor together and talk about Peeta and Katniss and about Haymitch's geese.

They drink for a long time, but slowly, so they are drunk but not completely gone.

"Haymitch," Effie slurs around six in the evening.

"Yep?" he hiccups.

"I could just stay here forever and get drunk with you until we die," she takes a long swig from her bottle.

Haymitch purses his lips.

"Well, since you aren't a giant pain in the ass anymore, I guess I wouldn't mind that."


	10. Peeta & Katniss

I do not own The Hunger Games.

Forgiven

* * *

><p>She's screaming my name when I find her. Huddled in a closet in her house.<p>

"Katniss," I kneel down and pull her into my arms. "I'm here, it's alright."

"Peeta," she cries into my shirt and wraps her arms around my neck. I sit down, lean against a wall, and hold her close.

"I'm here," I repeat. Her crying subsides after a few minutes.

"Peeta, I don't want to live anymore," she whispers. I tighten my arms around her.

"Why would you say that?"

"Everyone I love is dead. I killed them."

"Katniss, my whole family was killed in the bombings. You're all I have left. Please don't leave me," I murmur into her hair. She starts crying again.

"I'm so selfish! I make everything about myself, Peeta. How do you not hate me?" She wipes at her eyes.

"I could never hate you, Katniss. You saved my life," I help her wipe away her tears with my thumb.

"You've lost more than I have. 12 was destroyed because of me. I'm the reason your family is dead. You should hate me."

"I'll never hate you. I promise."

Aside from the occasional sniffle, Katniss is quiet for the next few minutes.

She takes a deep breath.

"Deep in the meadow, under the willow..." She struggles to keep from crying before continuing.

_A bed of grass,_

_a soft green pillow_

_Lay down your head,_

_and close your sleepy eyes_

_And when again they open,_

_the sun will rise._

_Here it's safe, here it's warm_

_Here the daisies guard you from every harm_

_Here your dreams are sweet _

_and tomorrow brings them true_

_Here is the place where I love you_

__"That was beautiful," I say quietly. She closes her eyes and rests her head against my chest.

"I'm sorry."

I know that she won't let this go until I forgive her. Even though I find that there is nothing to forgive her for.

"I forgive you," I say. And although the words hold no meaning for me, she breathes a sigh of relief. I press my lips to the top of her head and memorize the way her hair smells.

"Don't leave."

I chuckle. "After all this time, do you really think you'll be able to get rid of me?"

She lets out something close to a laugh and exhales against my neck, finally seeming content.


	11. Annie

I do not own The Hunger Games.

Complete

* * *

><p>"Here is your newborn son," A doctor smiles at Annie and hands her a little blue bundle. She takes it in her arms but does not look down. The doctors exchange worried looks when she refuses to look.<p>

"Just give me a moment," She breathes. She takes another deep breath. One more. And she looks down. It's like he's back for a split second. Those sea green eyes stare up at her, and she breaks out in the first smile she's had in weeks. It's like she's got a tiny piece of him, to cherish and care for. And never let out of her sight.

She holds her baby boy close and whispers, "I will _never_ let anyone hurt you."

Johanna Mason is at her side a moment later, apologizing half heartedly for having to leave the room while Annie was in labor.

"I thought your head was going to explode," Johanna mutters. Usually this wouldn't amuse Annie, but she laughs because she's got a baby and her world is perfect right now. Not just any baby. She's got Finnick's baby. He isn't completely gone. He's left her a small reminder. A small parting gift that she'll never let go of.

For once since his death, she is thankful. At first she was worried. Angry even. That she was left alone with a baby and no one to help her take care of it. But now all she felt was joy and gratefulness and love.

"He's beautiful," Johanna smiles, too when she holds him.

"How could he not be, with his genes?" One of the doctors laughs. Annie laughs.

"Thank you," she grins and is handed her little baby. "Thank you," she tells her baby.

"Do you have a name picked?" Johanna asks. Annie looks down at her son and smiles again.

"Neptune. Nep for short."

Johanna suppresses a laugh.

"You can laugh if you want."

Johanna chortles. "Are you sure you want to name your baby Neptune?"

Annie nods. "Positive."

"Neptune it is then," the doctor says and scribbles it down on a form. "And the last name, same as yours?"

"Yes, Odair suits him," Annie grins and kisses Nep's soft cheek. "Neptune Odair."

"It's got a nice ring to it," the doctor supplies.

"And Finnick would like it," Johanna squeezes Annie's shoulder.

"Thank you," Annie can't stop smiling.

"How are you feeling?" The doctor asks.

Annie considers the question for a few moments before saying, "I finally feel complete again."


	12. Cato & Clove

I do not own The Hunger Games.

Brief

* * *

><p>"Cato!" Clove shouts as she runs through the thick foliage. She shouldn't be screaming, she knows, but the panic overrides her common sense. "CATO!" They were separated due to another fire. But she wouldn't give up on finding him.<p>

"SHHH!" A voice comes from behind her and she stops running. She pulls a knife out and throws it in the direction of the voice.

"What the hell, Clove!" Cato steps out from behind a large bush. "That almost hit me," he mutters angrily.

"Sorry," she shrugs, pulling two more knives out. "Damn tracker jacker venom. Everything is still blurry."

"Same here. It's wearing off though. We need to find the love birds," Cato spits, kicking a rock with his foot.

"I know," Clove says through gritted teeth, "I'm tired of letting them slip through our fingers. This needs to end."

"How many tributes are left anyway?"

"Six. You, me, the star-crossed jackasses, the District 11 boy, and the District 5 girl."

"Let's take care of District 11 and 5 first."

"Save 12 for the finale," Clove smiles toward a camera.

"Exactly," Cato grins. They set up camp for the night, but without a fire this time. There are too few tributes left and starting a fire would be stupid now. But they were very cold, and had only one sleeping bag left. So they huddled together and used it as a blanket.

"We could win," Clove whispers in the cold night. She feels Cato nod.

"When we get home... we'll be free, Clove. No more, training, no more killing."

"Only four more," Clove mutters. "Just four and we can go home."

"Clove?"

"Yeah?"

"When we get home, we should do something together... something not involving knives or swords or killing people."

"Like what?" Clove asked quietly.

Cato was silent for a minute. "Forget it. Let's just focus on getting out of here."

"Okay." Clove knew that this wouldn't last. She knew that even with the new rule in place, things could still go wrong. Either of them could die at any moment. But even so, Clove smiled to herself and grinned at Cato's proposition, because however brief it had been, there was finally a moment she could see the real him.


	13. Haymitch, Effie, & Love

I do not own The Hunger Games.

Drink

* * *

><p>"Don't say that," Haymitch grunts. His grey eyes are cold and distant.<p>

"It's only the truth," Effie replies. She is only a pallid version of who she used to be. Her clothes are never brighter than a soft yellow, her head is devoid of wigs, and she always wears the same flat brown shoes. She slouches and her arms dangle weakly at her sides. Her hands should be on her hips, back straight, voice strong and irritating. But her voice trembles and her words jumble. It breaks Haymitch's heart. Or it would if he had one.

"You don't even know what it means, Effie."

"Do you love me?" She asks.

"No," he lies, and she knows it.

"I don't believe that for a minute."

"Well try to. Because this would never work. Go get married to some Capitol yuppie, have a bunch of Capitol babies, and raise them to wear wigs and make up."

"That isn't who I am anymore," she says, blood rushing to her cheeks. "I'm too old for children anyway. I don't even want them. Just you." Her slight frame beings to tremble.

"You say that now, Eff. But when you spend enough time around me, get to know me, you'll see-"

"I already know you, Haymitch! I've known you for ten years, cleaned up after you for the first five."

"Stop it. Just stop. Nothing you say will change this. I'm all wrong for you. Move on, Effie," he warns.

"Why are you doing this?" Tears threaten to run down her cheeks. She wraps an arm around her middle, afraid that if she doesn't literally hold herself together, she'll fall apart. "What about... What about when-when you... Whenever I have the nightmares..." Her knees wobble and nearly give out.

"I _comforted _you, Effie. That doesn't mean I love you," he spits.

"But you do! I know you do! Haymitch, you-" Her voice catches. She takes a deep breath and continues, "You're the only thing that keeps them away."

"You should go," Haymitch glares at the floor. Effie begins to cry and does not feel any shame over it like she once would, when she lived in the Capitol all those years ago.

"W-what am I supposed to do without you?"

"You'll get on. You were fine for thirty years without me, you'll be fine now."

"That was before... I need you, Haymitch," she whispers his name and it sends shivers up his spine because he knows that kicking her out will devastate her. But he's all wrong for her. What good would he do in her life? He'd be drunk. She didn't need that.

"I don't _want _you, Effie," he lies again.

"That's a lie," she says again, but with doubt. "I love you."

"God, Effie, no you don't! You can't love! You're incapable of loving anyone! You stood by while children were killed year after year-you're the one who drew their names! Why would I ever want to be with you? I only put up with you because Katniss and Peeta like having you around! Damn it, woman, I liked it a lot more when you lived in the Capitol, far, far away from me!" Everything he's said is a lie, but his words hurt her so much that it doesn't matter. She pushes past him and storms out of the room. He hears her stomp down the front hall and slam the door shut.

Haymitch wants to follow her, run after her, grab her by the waist and hold her close and never let her go. Because she isn't the same person she was ten years ago. She's completely changed. True, they'd never have a family or even a good life, but they could keep each other grounded. Keep each other from doing something stupid. But Haymitch won't allow her to condemn herself to a life with him; she's already been to prison once.

So he grabs his last bottle of white liquor, plops down on the couch, and does what he's been doing for over 30 years; he drinks.


	14. Johanna & Haymitch

I do not own The Hunger Games.

Kiss

* * *

><p>Haymitch Abernathy is a bastard. Not that I have anything against children born to unmarried parents. But he's a bastard.<p>

"Come on, sweetheart, just move into the house next door," he told me. So I did it. Because I'm a fucking moron. And now. Now I live next to a drunk, a baker, and a severely scared teenage girl who wakes me up with her screaming every other night. Yeah. It's that loud. Plus that stupid cat is always meowing at my window until I let it in.

But you know, Haymitch is a bastard for other reasons, too. Take what happened last night...

* * *

><p>"You want a drink?" Haymitch asks after everyone leaves. I raise my eyebrows at him.<p>

"What happened to staying sober?"

"Eh, I just say that to get Peeta off my back. I've cut back though," he shrugs and gets out a tall bottle of white liquor and two glasses. He hands me one and pours some liquor into my glass. I take a sniff at first, then a large gulp. It burns my throat and makes me want to cough, but I like it. I love it, I realize. I finish off my glass and hold it out for more. Haymitch pours me another glass.

So we sit there and drink and get drunk and talk and eventually I am so drunk that Haymitch is attractive and I am suddenly extremely turned on. And then all at once I'm on the couch with him, laughing at some joke I can't understand because his words are so slurred, and he's looking at me and I'm looking back and it gets so quiet I can faintly hear that stupid cat at my window next door.

And yeah, so I kiss him. I lean in and press my lips against his and because I'm so drunk it's amazing and he tastes and smells amazing and I want to keep going. So I cling to him desperately and slowly the buttons on the front of his shirt come undone and everything is moving so fast. And what makes him a douchebag isn't the fact that he kisses me back, which he does, but it's what he does next; he pushes me away, wipes his mouth on his sleeve and downs another glass of liquor.

"M'sorry," he shakes his head. Or I think he shakes his head. Everything is spinning, partly from the alcohol and partly from the kiss.

"W-what?" I stammer, leaning towards him again.

"No, Johanna," he mumbles, shoving me away.

* * *

><p>The rest I can't really remember, but I woke up in my own bed and I can remember everything up until that point. My guess is that he threw me out. But whatever.<p>

Haymitch Abernathy is a bastard because I realized last night that I'm in love with him. And he's a drunken asshole.

* * *

><p><strong>This was written as a request ^ :) You can make one in the comments, or you can message me if you want. <strong>


	15. Annie & Finnick

I do not own The Hunger Games.

Then Again

* * *

><p><em>Be strong, <em>I tell myself. I take a deep breath and walk into the room. The room that I once said goodbye to my mentor in. And then came back. But what are our odds this time?

"Hey, Fin," Annie smiles up at me from a large chair in the corner. Any resolution I have to "stay strong" flies out the window.

"Annie," I rush toward her and kneel down at her feet. She reaches out and touches my face. I sigh and struggle to keep my tears at bay, but it's no use. I bury my head in her lap. "I'm sorry," I choke out.

"Shh," she runs her fingers through my hair and I savor the moment. "This isn't your fault, Finnick. Things happen."

"Of course it is. Do you really think this is a coincidence?"

"What are you saying, Fin?" she asks, puzzlement washing over her features. I close my eyes and don't speak for a moment. "Fin," she shakes my arm.

"I didn't want to upset you..."

"What is it? We promised no secrets, remember?"

"Snow... he... he wanted to do something with me."

"Do what? Finnick, you're scaring me."

"He wanted me to go to the Capitol and... do certain things... with people... And I said no. And now you have to be in the Games."

"Fin, what kind of things?"

"Bad things," I whisper. Her eyes widen in understanding.

"Finnick, whatever happens you must never do as he says, okay?"

"I can't promise you that," I mumble.

"Fin..." Annie holds me as I cry until the guards come to take me away.

"I love you," I kiss her full on the lips once.

"I love you, too," she wipes a tear from my cheek. And then the guards drag me away, kicking and screaming.

* * *

><p>The next time I see her is on a screen. She's standing on her pedestal, shoulders shaking violently. The timer counts down and I hold my breath, hardly able to keep watching. When the clock ticks 0, she bolts in the opposite direction of the Cornucopia and it is right at that moment that I realize that our very first kiss might be our last. But then again, maybe it won't.<p> 


End file.
